


Sleeping Beauty

by Snow_Tempest



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Tempest/pseuds/Snow_Tempest
Summary: Jaskier sings the tale of the Sleeping Beauty behind the briers. Geralt must find and fight the sorcerer who placed this curse to break it and free the beauty from their spell.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 11





	Sleeping Beauty

Jaskier, sometimes known as the poet Danddilion, loved a good quest.

Just not one he had taken time and time again.

And in vain.

He followed behind yet another prince on his quest to wake the mysterious beauty in the crumbling castle just north of Novigrad, hidden away past the Gustfeilds.

His song of an fair enchanted princess, he was sure he had embellished it a bit, attacted many a young man to try and wake her with a kiss.

Jaskier had come along on almost every single one of these quests, because what if- what if! This one was _the one_! Oh the stories he could write!

His wistful musings were brought to a halt with a smack in the gut by the horse’s arse stopping in front of him. He had walked right into it. He gasped and stepped to the side and looked forward.

“Yes, here we are, Lord!” He said, the tone was less grand and congradulatory as it had been the first twenty or so times and more of a half-hearted patisipation award.

The aformentioned castle was, indeed, crumbling, like the story told. And it was covered by thorns, thick, winding tunks with spear-heads jabbing out at anyone not careful enough. Jaskier had been inside for all the past attempts and nothing but a few sticky needles had gotten in their way, all things easily cut down.

“And soon, we shall see my beloved…” The prince said, sweeping himself down from his horse.

Jaskier nodded and adjusted the leather strap across his chest. If this was the right one, it would be a great tale indeed!

He had reminded them to bring a woodcutter’s axe, something very trail-and-error by attenpting to use swords against the thick briars. The prince got to work, chopping at the first

Jaskier had noticed that the thorn wall grew back each time they hacked out a path, part of the magic he didn’t quite understand, no doubt. This tidbit had become a lyric in his work-in-progress: Sleeping Beauty.

_Creul thorns in briars_

_If only they did not start these fires,_

_In my breast, where my heart no longer lies_

The melody was there, right on the tip of his tongue. For the time being he just spread the story by prose in taverns like the Passiflora, whose local legends they had all but forgotten.

He trailed behind the prince as he broke through the first layer of thick wood.

“Huzzah!” He clapped half-heartedly and waited impaitently, now in the gates of the castle, to enter the courtyard. He waited some more as the prince sweat through his doublet.

“Do you…” The prince wheezed, “Think…” Turning to Jaskier, “You would take a swing at it for a while?”

Jaskier held up his hands, “It is your lady fairest, not mine! I am just here to document, that’s all!”

The prince glowered at him and Jaskier suddenly had fond remembrances of another certain scowl.

Jaskier held out a hand, “Here,” He said in the spirit of friendship, “Let me help.”

He gave a few pithy thwaks to the closest briar and hardly made a dent.

The prince took back his axe.

By all accounts, this prince in particular made it in nearly record time to the steps of the princess’ tower. He had to be impressed as he picked his way over the bodies of sleeping denezens of the castle and of suspiciously half-eaten adventurors. Jaskier had no idea what could be lurking in this castle to eat them, but he had not run into any trouble thus far, so…

The flight of stairs was lengthly, and Jaskier sighed as he placed his foot on the first step.

The stone errupted.

The prince, one step ahead of him, was riddled with thorns, protruding from every angle out from his bleeding body.

Jaskier knew no more.

…

He had been hearing of this princess and this castle full of her sleeping subjects for about a week now. Where there were rumors of strange goings on, there were monsters, dissappearing noblemen. And where there were monsters, taverns, inns, and notice boards tended to be the best places to check for anything related to rumors.

Gerelt rode into Novigrad on Roach and took in its impressivly well-cobbled roads and beautiful tall trees, blowing in the slight wind. It was quite a city.

He dismounted from Roach to get a better look at the board and saw nothing of any particular interest, so he moved on.

Upon asking where an inn might be, he was spat at by one local, screeched at by another, but the third pointed him toward two different locations: The Passiflora and The Nowhere Inn.

“They do extras,” He said with a dirty wink, as if blinking something out of his eye, “That is, if you have the coin, and you’re…” He gestured to another man down the street more upstandingly dressed than either he or Geralt.

“Point taken.” Geralt said, “Thanks.”

He led Roach to the nearby stables and hitched her up, smoothing her coat with his hand.

“I’ll be back, I just need to find out some more about this job, alright?”

She huffed in response and he took it as an affimative, so he backed away and went to go and try his luck at the Nowhere Inn.

He sniffed himself. He could use a bath.

He walked into the inn and walked between the tables to the counter where a woman stood, cheerely egging a man on to drink more.

“I would like a room and a bath, please. And any rumors you may have about a uin outside of town. Perhaps with a princess in it?”

She turned her attention to him and clucked, “Sorry, love! We only do baths fo family here. I can get you a room if you’d like. And as for the rumors, we’ve has several young men come through hearing about a beautiful princess sleeping in a neaby ruin.”

“How did these rumors get started and how long has she been like that?”

She sighed, throwing her tea-towel on her shoulder, “I know it’s been a small local legend, but it was only recently made famous by Master Danddilion.”

Geralt gritted his teeth.

“He’s been staying at the Passiflora for a month now, helping adventures like yourself to rescue the princess.”

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jaskier was fame-hunting again.

“Does the Passiflora have baths? I will stay here these next few nights.” He assured her.

Her eyes narowed, “Yes, they do. But I will take your coin.” And she, indeed, did.

Geralt went to go bathe at the Passiflora, and perhaps gather more information about the local legend from a place that Jaskier had been staying at.

He entered walked down the street, entered the bar and inn, and was surprised to find a door woman.

“Pay up, sweetie.” She said, holding out a liver-spotted hand.

“I am a friend of Master Danddion’s. I come to find information about the castle in the Gustfields.”

Her pale blue eyes raked his form and settled on his Witcher’s wolf medalion.

“We don’t want any trouble.”

“And I’m not looking to start it.” He said, “Can you tell me anything of use?”

“Not me,” The woman shook her head, “But the girls might. Go on in.”

Geralt passed the entryway and found himself in the lower level of the Passiflora, seeming to be a bar with a little more debochary than what was the standard. Skantaly clad girls sat on drunk men’s laps and some were drawn upstairs, no doubt to beds and what carnal temptations lay beyond.

Geralt went to the bar first, where a busty maid was serving tankards of ale and glasses of mead.

“Do you know the poet Danddilion?” He began.

“Know him?” She scoffed, sweeping her long red hair over her shoulder to get it out of the way, “He stayed her and practicly preformed here every night. And we might have…” A twinkle came to her eye, “Had a nice time together. I think he wrote a song about me!” She seemed awfully pleased with herself.

Geralt nodded, “Do you know his story about the castle?”

“Oh, Sleeping Beauty? Yes, he composed working prose that drew quite a few customers here. You might ask Daisy, she was the closet to him. Daisy!” She called over Geralt’s shoulder, and a small, beautiful chesnut-haired girl appeared, smiling.

“Yes?”

“Could you tell him about Master Danddilion’s Sleeping Beauty?”

“Of course! The castle is said to be in the south east.” She took hold of his arm and led him to the stairs. Her scantily clad breasts pressed up against his arm.

“Why are you taking me upstairs?”

“It’s quieter!” She said.

He nodded. It had been a while sinse he had last popped his cork, so he may as well do it now.

They settled in the room on the bed.

“My name is Geralt, of Rivia.” He said.

“My name is Daisy, of, well, here.” She responded with an alluring smile on her lips.

“You wanted to talk about Master Danddilion?” She asked.

“Tell me what you know.” Geralt said, looking deep into her blue eyes that did hold the same shade as Jaskier’s.

She leaned forward.

“Well, this is what I used to do with him.” Then she grabbed the Witcher’s armored collar and tugged him forward into a kiss.

His eyes didn’t close all the way, leaving her pale cheeks and her chesnut hair in view. Features that he just couldn’t get out of his mind in their similarities, in their echoes of his friend.

He shucked off his gloves and boots, then unbuckled his vest as he watched Daisy slip the dress from her shoulders to the floor.

She diffenately had the body of a woman, and it was a beautiful one too.

But her looked at her eyes when he threw off his jerken and dropped his trowsers, choosing to keep his Witcher’s amulet on.

She bucked on him as he lay on the bed, letting her do what she wanted, thrusting up when she called for it.

He sighed and pulled out once she gave a massive shudder and he rolled away, finishing himself off.

Chesnut hair, blue eyes.

Damn.

Daisy gave a breathy laugh and leaned back on the bed.

“It is said by Master Danddilion that the whole of the castle is covered in wooden branches of briars!” Daisy exclaimed, turning on her stomach, exposing her naked arse.

Geralt made a note to bring a woodcutter’s axe with him to the castle the next day.

“Thank you, Daisy.” He said, and stood, hiking up his pants and belting them.

“He should be out there now.” She added, and Geralt froze, he thought Jaskeier had moved on from here.

“He took a prince just three days ago, but he hasn’t reaturned.” She sighed, “We miss him.”

Geralt nodded and threw on his jerken, gathered his armo, then made a hasty exit.

…

Once dawn came he rode into the Gustfields, searching south for a ruined castle. It was easy enough to find, but deserted, devoid of all life, covered by deadly-looking spikes.

He slowed Roach and hitched her to a nearby tree’s low hanging branch until he could come back. It was a space with lots of grass, so he hoped she wouldn’t mind the wait as much.

He readied his axe and set about finding the weakest point, a point of entry that was closest to the courtyard beyond. 

He picked a spot and began his work, eventually cutting his way into the main courtyard, which was ringed with the same thick biars. He saw scattered before him dozens of sleeping servants and a few guards, all posed in very uncomfortable fallen positions.

He picked his way carefully over them and hacked his way through the second set of thorns leading into the small castle’s main hall, where he would find the monsters, princess, or dissapeared noblemen, or their pieces, more likely. Or perhaps Jaskier, if he was in some trouble here, as he was usually.

He tuned in to his senses and slowed his breathing, looking around to his left and right, ears catching any minute sound that whispered through the castle.

He heard snores, annoyingly enough.

But below that… a rustling almost akin to something slithering, dragging on the ground. It was in the west wing.

He decided it was a start, something ougt to be awake and alive in here. He drew his silver sword and found stairs leading up to the private chambers. The sound grew louder and the briars lining the hallway and ceiling faded into a blood red.

Geralt stepped carefully and followed the path, scanning quickly all around him as he went. He had prepared to use Igni just in case he couldn’t clear away the briars, so in the event that this was an organic monster, he was a little more prepared.

He approached the stairs to the tower cautiously, the red briars seemed to swarm into the ceiling of the stairwell. Judging by the thorns, the blood-red vines, and the smell of rotting meat… an Echinop.

On the way up he nearly tripped over something, he looked down and there was Jaskier, asleep, sprawled out on the stairs.

Geralt was releived to find him alive. He knelt to examine his friend for wounds, but there was only a little bump on his head, which at this point was scabbing over.

He set Jaskier down and continued onward, knowing that if he did not expunge the monsters from this place, getting back out might not be so easy. Especially with Jaskier on his back.

He dove to the side just as he reached the main chamber as a spike, not unlike a scorpian’s tail, embedded itself into the stone near his feet. He swept with his sword, but the plant monster recoiled back to where it and its breathern gathered, viscous viens of thorny red pulsating

They surrounded the foot of a large bed with soiled, bloody sheets. A woman, fair and untouched by time, rested ontop of the embroidered bedclothes. On the floor was a more or less fresh corpse of what Geralt assumed to be a foolhearty knight.

Geralt aimed as far away as he could from the bed and fired Igni at the Echinop, it screeched, thrashing its thorns and ripping a dusty tapestry off the wall.

He ran in with his sword for a swing to take the spine off with one swipe, and he managed it with one. The second out of the four remaining attempted to wrap its thorny stem around his waist, which worked. Geralt could feel the stabing, and knew that it it would grow worse than pinpricks if this kept up.

He struggled and winced as his cheek was slashed from nose to ear, nicking the cartalage, perhaps taking it with it’s swipe.

He released Igni again, even though he noticed his energy depleting, and set the area in front of him ablaze, creating a column of fire. The vines disintagrated and snapped backwards.

They suddenly scattered and dove into crannies in the stonework of the floor and ceiling.

Geralt blasted their roots with fire and stabbed the ones on the ground with his sword. When all movement died, he looked about the chanber, and with dissapointment, saw that the pincess hadn’t woken.

The moneters were separate from the curse, then.

Though Echinops only manafested when there was a great crime commited. Why would they be in a princesses’ bedroom? Was she even a princess?

He could speculate, or he could wake the one sleeping on the stairs.

…

When Jaskier opened his eyes, he was looking into gold.

Into the eyes of a Witcher.

 _His_ Witcher.

Geralt of Rivia. 

He gagged from a parched throat. And deliriously grabbed the water skien that Geralt held out to him and chugged the contents.

“I am bloody well happy to see you, Geralt!” He wanted to say, but it came out strangled and slurred.

Geralt seemed to understand as he nodded and clapped a hand on the dehydrated bard’s shoulder.

“Is anything in your story of ‘Sleeping Beauty actually true, Jaskier?” Those cat-like eyes were pircing and accusing.

“True, she isn’t a princess, so much as an Earl’s daughter. And she wasn’t cursed by a fairy.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Because they don’t exist, Jaskier.” Geralt sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“True,” He took another swig of water, “But it makes for a compelling story!”

“Can you stand?”

Jaskier steadied himself on Geralt’s arm as he raised him up to standing height. They squeezed up the stairs and reentered the Earl’s daughter’s bedroom.

Geralt let Jaskier down on a musty padded seat and began pacing throughout the room, sniffing, scanning, and listening.

Jaskier smiled. He really did look like a cat, the only thing he didn’t do was chitter or wiggle his arse when he locked onto a target.

“She had two children,” He came back over to him, jaw set, “While she was asleep.”

Jaskier let out a heavy breath, “Are they alive? Sleeping?”

Geralt shook his head, “They were born alive, awake, and they died without…If I had to guess, it was months ago. That must have been when the Echinops started growing.”

“Why, Geralt?”

“They appear when a crime happens. What crime but leaving a sleeping, cursed woman your seed? It just happened to develop into so much more than just an act of rape.”

Jaskier shuddered, then clenched his fist, “We have to find him Geralt! End the story right!”

Geralt closed his eyes slowly and let out a low hum, “I don’t get involved with moral affairs.”

Jaskier stood shakily and threw out his arms, “We at least have an obligation to wake these people up, Geralt!”

“No, we don’t Jaskier!” Geralt spoke loudly and some roosting birds, who had just come back to perch on the tower again, beat their wings and flew away.

“’We don’t’.’” He huffed, folding his arms, “I have my own life, and I will inspire someone else to lift this curse, now that you have slain the monsters here, it should be safe. And as for the monster out there, someone could track him down, I’m sure!”

“Jaskier, curses aren’t always solved with true love’s kiss like they do in your tales. Sometimes, you need to find the Sorcerer who placed the curse and make them break it themselves.”

“Then let’s do that. Think about it, Geralt!” He swung over to Geralt’s side and pointed ahead.

“Two daring heroes, a Witcher and his Bard, confront the evil Sorcerer and rescue the Princess-”

“Earl’s daughter.”

“Right—Earl’s daughter!”

“I suppose there will be coin in it for me. In the end.”

“Undoubtably.” Jaskier confirmed and swung his arm up around Geralt’s shoulder, “Now help me down these stairs so we can find this Sorceror.”


End file.
